


The Kettle's Cold

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5900689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post OotP - Grieving</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kettle's Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

Moving in a dream; haltingly, as if underwater, the determination needed to lift

a leg and force it forward through the turbulence unsurpassable.

/ Drowning. /

[ No, not yet. ]

Things not quite the same; altered ever so slightly, a shift in reality, the nuances of which only you can detect.

/ The kettle's cold. The smoky bacon crisps are uneaten. There's one less pair of shoes by the door. One less coat on the peg - /

[ Yes, I know, don't say it, not yet! ]

You can always tell when there's nobody else around. The silence is heavy, a thick blanket around repellent shoulders. Oppressive, the clear air somehow stifling.

[ I feel like I can't breathe. ]

/ In your own home, can't breathe. Can't breathe, can't breathe! /

[ Stop it, maybe if I open a window... ]

The November air is like a slap in the face. Ice pale sky, a watercolour wash, spindly naked branches shuddering as the wind whips through. Deep green and untidy in front of your blurred vision -

/ Blurred by tears? /

[ Shut up! ]

\- the hedge he said he'd cut, but never did.

/ Never did, never did. And now the kettle's cold - /

[ Shut up! ]

/ The kettle's cold /

[ Shut up!! ]

/ The kettle's cold /

[ SHUT UP!! ]

The kettle's cold and the smoky bacon crisps are uneaten and there's one less pair of shoes by the door and one less coat on the peg -

[ Because he's gone. ]


End file.
